


lurked in the livelong night

by perfectlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlight/pseuds/perfectlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>That’s what people do,</em> screamed the fancy little man in the fancy little suit when his fancy little dance on the edge of madness frayed, just a little, just enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lurked in the livelong night

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet. Title is from _Beowulf._

_That’s what people do_ , screamed the fancy little man in the fancy little suit when his fancy little dance on the edge of madness frayed, just a little, just enough.

 

_Right_ , you had thought, and then, _not good_ , because you have held lives like water and let them slip past your fingers but it never meant that you were supposed to _stop_.

 

The words ring and pulse through the concrete, the chlorine. You hear them once, and then again, three times, four. Hypnotic. When everything fades to silence the words are still pulsing within your brain, like a drum, a second heartbeat.

 

_That’s what people do._

 

* * *

 

 

So Sherlock falls. Like a bird, he is, that long coat flapping, and for the most precious second you are staring, you are staring and waiting for him to fly. Your miracle-worker, your detective, _yours_.

 

He falls.

 

He falls and you watch his body shatter on the ground and you hear it like an echo as you run, and run, and run. 

 

_That’s_

 

_what_

 

_people_

 

_do._

 

* * *

 

 

Landing, now. Back to Earth. He’s standing in front of you, wings folded, back straight. Your fist had met his face and shocked him backwards but it was too light to be angry, too gentle. A kiss. A welcome-home. Make him feel what you had felt, through those long years, your detective, your miracle-worker, _yours_ ; the whisper of your name still spins and echoes around the room, echoes and wavers as though through water.

 

_John_ , he’d said, and that’s when you knew this was real.

 

You kiss him, then –  _that’s what people do_ – and you hold his wings against you, clutch and fist them in your hands, pull him to earth, or cling tight as you both ascend, it doesn’t matter – madness, and genius, both of you are flying –  _that’s what people do_ – 

 

_Wrong,_ you think. There is only this.


End file.
